


The Skirt is Short on Purpose

by Starchains



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Flirting, Canaries, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Hibari is an asshole, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starchains/pseuds/Starchains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry owes Lussuria a favour. Lussuria wants Harry in a skirt. Xanxus approves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skirt is Short on Purpose

About three things Harry James Potter, codename Rio, was absolutely certain. One, he had picked up an awful bug during that last mission that had landed him in the infirmary for a week despite his Sun Flames. Two, he owed Lussuria for covering his paperwork. And three, the Sun Officer was the most evil being ever to walk the face of the earth.

"No. sir, favours have to relate to Varia business. I can cover missions, or run errands, or do paperwork! Cross-dressing isn't part of the agreement." It was true. After a memorable argument which took out nearly a quarter of the Storm Division, Captain Squalo had set out strict rules for what a favour could and could not be called in for.

"It's not for fun, Rio! I need someone to test out the Varia female uniform and tell me how it could be improved. Now, go and get changed. Unless you'd like a hand?" Lussuria purred. Harry fled for the bathroom.

After ten minutes and a lot of cursing – "Why the Hell do I have to wear women's knickers, sir?" "Because boxers would look silly under the skirt, dear. Do you need help getting them on?" – Harry stood awkwardly in front of Lussuria, blushing furiously. The top was a tighter version of the black leather Varia jacket, only cropped just above the waist instead of hitting mid-thigh. Under the jacket was some kind of mesh thing that didn't provide any sort of protection at all. About the only thing it was good for was making it so that his exposed abdomen wasn't a pale beacon begging to be stabbed. The boots were Varia standard as well. Harry would like to know what other criminal organisation had knee-high boots as standard, but he couldn't deny they were comfortable. Judging by the rest of the outfit, Harry counted himself lucky that he wasn't in heels. The knickers were awkward as Hell, but the worst thing was the skirt. It was black, flouncy, and just barely covered the horrible underwear. It swished when he moved, brushing against his legs so that he was constantly aware of it. He had met hookers who would reject it as being completely tasteless.

"We don't have a female uniform, sir. Everyone knows there are no women in the Varia. Why do we need a uniform people aren't going to wear?" He tried desperately to appeal to his Officer's logic, which seemed to have vanished somewhere in the piles of fabric and rows of incredibly lifelike mannequins.

It was a sexist policy, but after the third highly skilled operative had been pulled mid-mission to be married off because of politics, which was shortly followed by the third time the Varia had been involved in a political mess because female former members had killed their spouses, the Boss of the time had banned female members altogether. Xanxus himself didn't give a damn about whether you were male, female, transgender or a gender-fluid baby, but he didn't want to deal with the paperwork involved in retracting the rule. Any women who joined the Varia ticked 'undisclosed' as their gender option and wore the standard uniform. Everyone pointedly ignored the tampons in the general supply cupboard and accepted the fact that some people weren't comfortable in the communal showers. All codenames were non gender-specific anyway.

"Just in case some of the female members we don't have want to look feminine, Rio-chan! Now stop complaining and give me a twirl."

Harry slowly shuffled in a circle, holding the skirt down against his thighs. Lussuria tutted.

"You need to embrace the uniform, Rio-chan! Now spin properly." Lussuria was a little terrifying when he was irritated. Harry turned awkwardly on the spot, which seemed to satisfy him.

"Very good! Now, just go through the day like normal, OK? Soon you'll forget that you're wearing anything different. Any questions?"

"Could you find a skirt that's a little longer? This one's too small," Harry said. He really didn't want to go through the day flashing everyone.

"Don't be silly, Rio-chan, the skirt's short on purpose. Off you go, have fun!"

This was not fun. This was the furthest thing from fun. Apparently, while he had been sick, he had been assigned as the Boss's bitch for the week. Just his luck that the first day out of the hospital was a Monday. The least coveted job, for everyone except the Lightning Officer who was certifiable anyway, it was generally given to those unable to protest or those who had pissed off their Officer. It had the highest fatality rate of anything in the Varia outside Platinum ranked jobs. If he was a suspicious person, he would think that it was Lussuria who had given him the job, so that the Sun Officer could be sure that Boss would see his design. It would be just like the man to risk his division's lives to showcase his work.

The way the Varia worked was actually fairly simple; everything went through Captain Squalo. Any paperwork that needed the Boss's signature instead of the Captains still had to be submitted to the Captain. So Harry knocked on the Captain's door, took a deep a breath, and entered when the Captain yelled for him.

"Voi!" he shouted as soon as he turned to look at him. "What the Hell are you wearing?"

"I owed Lussuria a favour, and he decided that I needed to test-drive our completely unnecessary female uniform. I'm not arguing with my Officer when he's in that kind of mood, Captain."

"Smart move. A word of advice. Act like it's not bothering you. Any weakness and you'll get eaten alive."

"Yes sir." Harry took a deep breath, brushed his hair back from his face, and pulled on his game face. He could do this.

"That's better, trash. Now, take this to the shitty Boss and pray he doesn't kill you. Tell him that I need the red ones signing today, dammit, not three weeks from now!"

With that, Harry had a stack of papers dumped in his arms, and he was unceremoniously shoved out the door. Luckily, he didn't run into anyone during the short walk from the Captain's office to the Boss's, although he knew that luck wouldn't last long.

He knocked on the intimidating wooden door, and opened it when he heard the deep voice grunt for him to enter. He couldn't help looking round curiously as he stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. He had never been on Boss Duty before, so he had never seen the inside of Boss's office. It was a surprisingly ordinary, with a throne-like chair, an incredibly comfortable-looking sofa, a plain desk covered in paperwork and the most well-stocked alcohol cabinet he had ever seen along one wall.

Boss was terrifying. With his eyes closed and his jacket draped across his shoulders, he shouldn't have looked imposing. But his aura was almost a physical thing. It made Harry feel like a hunted rabbit. But it was also a dare, a taunt, saying 'if you run, I will chase. Stand your ground, show me you're worthy'. So Harry gathered up every last bit of his courage. He had faced Voldemort and won. He had held his ground against Hibari Kyoya. He was going to parade around Varia Headquarters in a skirt. He could hand his Boss some papers.

So he pasted on a professional smile and stepped forward. "I have the papers from Captain Squalo, Boss. He said to tell you that the red ones were urgent."

Boss's eyes were open now, and his lip was curled in a smirk as he dragged his gaze up and down Harry's body. Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face. Was his Boss checking him out? He brushed his hands awkwardly over the hem of the skirt.

"Would you like the papers on your desk, Boss?" Stay professional.

"Bring them here, trash." Damn, his voice was just like his presence. Deep and rough and completely terrifying. He had the same skill Captain Squalo had of making Italian sound like German.

"Right," Harry said once the paper was on the desk. "Should I come back for it later, or…?"

"Stay here, trash. Fetch me tequila," Boss commanded, not taking his eyes off Harry.

Awkwardly, Harry made his way to the alcohol cabinet, very aware of the way the skirt swished and the eyes on his back. Tequila, Right. Where was that?

"Bottom shelf, trash," Boss drawled. At least Harry could hear paperwork shuffling, so at least the work would be done. Stay positive, stay professional.

Harry knelt, thanking whoever had laid the plush carpet. There was no way he was bending over in this skirt. There were at least twenty bottles of tequila. Which one should he bring? Boss hadn't been specific, so he just grabbed the one in the middle of the row and stood, closing the cabinet before lifting the bottle for inspection.

"Is this right, Boss?" He'd rather Boss be angry at him for asking questions than for giving the wrong alcohol. One would get a glass thrown at you, the other would get you shot.

"Fine, trash." Boss had the red paper in hand, but all his attention was on Harry as he walked over to the desk and poured the tequila. Once that was done, Harry stood to one side, waiting for the paperwork to be handed back to him.

It was a full half hour before Boss got bored of sipping his drink and staring at him. Finally, he smirked, scrawled his signature across the papers, and pushed them across the desk towards Harry.

"Take these to the shitty shark. Bring lunch at one. Something with pasta."

Harry all but fled the room. How the Hell was he going to survive a whole week?

Captain Squalo had been furious with him, until he saw the paperwork clutched in his hand. After his incredulously triumphant "Voi!" he had explained that he hadn't expected Boss to sign anything, and he had thought that Harry was just avoiding him because he hadn't got the papers. After being sent on his way, Harry went to the infirmary where he worked until twelve, replacing the canaries he had left there last night, which were almost out of Sun Flames.

At twelve he headed down to the kitchens to let them know about Boss's order for pasta. After five minutes of being shouted at by the chef – "Pasta? Could you be any less specific?" – he was told to return at five to one to pick up the food. With three-quarters of an hour left to kill, he decided to visit Lussuria, to see if his Officer would let him get changed.

"Come in, Rio-chan!" Lussuria called as soon as he approached the door.

Stepping into the fashion room, Harry tried to ignore the glassy stares of the mannequins. There were rumours that they were actually the dead bodies of his defeated enemies, healed after death and kept frozen here forever. Harry very firmly did not think about it. He did not want to know.

"So how is it?" Lussuria asked, as he came out from among the rows of mannequins and stalked in a circle around Harry.

"Uncomfortable, embarrassing and I can't bend over in it," Harry said dryly.

Lussuria just laughed. He might complain, but he did have the best Officer. Squalo would deafen you within a day, Levi demanded unquestioning obedience and Bel was insane. He had killed one of Harry's tentative friends for making the wrong kind of tea in Harry's first week. Mammon wouldn't be too bad, except that he would be fined for everything under the sun. The Mist Division's pay was half again as much as every other division, but they still had less take-home pay than anyone else.

"You'll get used to it, Rio-chan! After all, you will be wearing it all week," he said slyly.

"All week? I thought it was just for today," Harry said, dismayed.

"Don't be silly! How will you get a good feel for it if you only wear it for one day? Now, if you have a minute, I have some clothes that need pressing."

So Harry spent the rest of the time ironing clothes for his Officer, escaping just in time to dash to the kitchen and pick up Boss's food. He made it to Boss's door just in time. Boss had a bottle of wine already on his desk, so at least Harry didn't have to worry about choosing one. He got the feeling that choosing wine was a lot more complicated than choosing tequila.

Boss didn't give him any indication that he wanted him to leave, so he hovered awkwardly to one side, refilling Boss's glass whenever he emptied it. Boss was nearly finished with his meal when Harry's stomach rumbled.

Boss glanced at him and snorted. Harry knew that he was blushing furiously. A leftover from the Dursley's was his habit of forgetting to eat unless food was shoved in front of him. He just didn't feel hungry very often, and he was used to running on one meal a day. Unfortunately, he had been ill for a week, and then skipped breakfast and lunch that morning, so his stomach was protesting.

Boss finished the plate of food and sat back in his throne. "Take that back to the kitchen, trash. And get something to eat. I want steak at seven."

Harry fled with a muttered "Yes Boss."

He returned to the kitchen and took a bowl of soup from the communal pot that was always available on the stove. A bowl and two bread rolls later, he was completely full. After washing his dishes, as well as the ones left on the side by less house-proud Varia members, he returned to the infirmary, where he spent most of the afternoon healing a group of idiots who had thought they could skip straight to the complicated bombs. All three of his Sun Canaries were burnt out by the time he had finished.

Dinner was a nerve-racking repeat of lunch. Neither of them spoke, although Boss kept his eyes on Harry the entire time. Only lessons beaten into him over a lifetime kept him from spilling the wine. As he was taking the plate away, Boss stopped him.

"What's your name, trash?"

Harry was shocked. It was common knowledge that Boss didn't bother with names for anyone lower than the Officers, and most times not even them.

"Rio, Boss."

"Your name, trash, not what you were assigned."

Harry took a startled breath. Asking for real names was practically taboo among the Varia. It suggested a level of intimacy that was hard to reach among assassins. "Harry, Boss."

Without turning round to see what Boss thought, he ducked out the door.

The next day passed in much the same way as the first. Harry was stunned at the lack of chaos and bodily harm. Boss had signed paperwork, not thrown anything at him, and not insulted him worse than 'trash'. What was going on? Lussuria had laughed at him when he had asked, incredulously, if Boss was always like that.

Things changed on Wednesday. Officer Levi had shoved a card into his hand with a glare just before lunch, and Prince Belphegor had stopped him in the middle of the afternoon with a pile of papers and a demand to deliver them straight to the Boss. Harry would rather deal with Squalo's anger at procedure not being followed than the Storm Officer's at being disobeyed, so he carried the stack to the now-familiar office.

"What's the matter, sir?" Harry asked, slowing down as he saw Captain Squalo stood outside Boss's door.

"Ninth is visiting. He asked not to be disturbed," the Captain growled.

Harry winced. Whenever the Ninth visited, Boss spent the rest of the week fuming and drinking vodka. Harry didn't know how a man could be so determined to fix a relationship while simultaneously being so blind to the cracks in it.

"Want me to bite the bullet, Sir? If we're lucky, the skirt might give him a heart attack," Harry offered.

Squalo gave him an once-over that managed to look completely professional.

"Voi! Give it a try," he said, apparently satisfied.

Harry put on his perkiest 'I'm happy to be here!' smile that he normally only used when a job needed him to pose as a waiter, shifted all the paperwork to one arm, and pushed open the door.

"Sorry to disturb you, Boss!" he chirped, as he bounced into the room and bent over to put the paperwork on the desk. He could hear someone choking behind him, and gathered that whichever of the Ninth's Guardians was here today had gotten a good look up his skirt.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, still smiling blindingly.

Boss threw a glass at him. Harry sidestepped so it hit the floor, and then bent over to pick it up.

"Sorry about that!" he said. "I'm so clumsy today!"

Now he could hear the Ninth choking as well.

"I can see you're busy, son. I'll…leave you to it," the Ninth said, before all but rushing out the door with his Guardians.

The second the door closed, Harry dropped the smile.

"I am sorry about that, Boss. His Highness commanded me to pass on a request for personal time among other things, and Officer Levi has submitted his weekly birthday card."

No one knew when the Boss's birthday was, although Harry had £300 riding on October tenth. Officer Levi decided to avoid the unforgivable sin of leaving the Boss's birthday uncelebrated by giving him a card every week.

Harry dared to look at the Boss's face, after a minute went by with no reply. To his shock, he saw Boss's shoulders shaking. Eye contact was the final straw, and Boss burst out laughing. He had a warm laugh, Harry thought. He wanted to hear it more often.

"You do good work, trash. Cancel whoever's assigned here for next week. You're going to be my bitch for a long time," Boss grinned.

Harry nodded and left the room. Why did the thought fill him with anticipation instead of the bone-melting terror any normal person would feel? Was Levi contagious?

"Bring two meals this evening, trash," Boss demanded as Harry was clearing the lunch plates the next day.

Harry froze for a minute. This was new. Was Boss expecting a guest? He almost asked, but regained his sense of self-preservation just in time.

"Yes, Boss," he said, before carrying the plates out the door.

He relayed the request to the chef, who was just as shocked as him. Occasionally Captain Squalo would order an extra meal if he knew he would be eating with Boss, but Boss himself never went out of his way to accommodate anyone.

That evening, Harry carried two plates of steak and mashed potatoes up to Boss's office. When he entered, Boss was the only one there. His confusion grew. Who was the other plate for? Was his other guest late?

Boss looked up from his paperwork as he saw Harry hovering in the doorway.

"Come in, trash. Eat on the couch."

Stunned, Harry set Boss's plate down in the space Boss cleared on the desk, and moved over to the sofa. It was just as comfortable as it looked, and he felt a whole load of tension drop as he sank into the cushions. He kept his eyes on Boss, so he saw the smirk as he let a small sigh of pleasure. He didn't care. This sofa was heaven, and he wanted to live on it. He hesitated to start eating. Had he understood Boss properly?

"Eat, trash," Boss growled.

Harry promptly shoved a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth and choked. Boss burst out laughing.

The next night, Boss actually left his throne. He stood and stretched as Harry brought the food in. His shirt rose up his torso, revealing a slash of tanned skin. Harry's mouth went dry. Boss caught his eye and smirked. Once Harry was sat on the sofa with his plate of food, Boss joined him. He stayed at the other end of the sofa, and didn't speak to him, but it felt uncomfortably intimate. Boss was breaking all the rules Harry had established to deal with him over the week, and he had no idea what was going on any more. In contrast, Boss seemed perfectly at ease, sipping his wine and even offering Harry a glass. Harry declined. He thought that if Boss actually shared his alcohol, the world might implode or something. It was unheard of.

It was only when he was in the kitchen washing the plates that he realised. They had eaten together. Boss had offered him wine. Was that…a date? Was Boss flirting with him? He thought back over the week. The smirks, the way his eyes lingered. The food, the lack of insults. Was he? Maybe? With Harry's complete lack of romantic knowledge, he just couldn't tell. But if he was? If Boss was actually interested in him, was he interested in return?

He thought about Boss's smile. The way he laughed. His voice, his sheer presence. The way he had needed rescuing from his father, and the complete lack of harassment he had received from him for being in a skirt. Yes, he was interested.

The next day, he decided to test his hypothesis. When he fetched tequila from the cabinet, he bent over instead of kneeling, grinning at Boss when he turned around and saw his eyes on him. Boss smirked, and took the bottle himself instead of just offering the glass. He ran his hand across Harry's before he plucked the bottle from his hand, eyes burning into Harry's. Harry collected the paperwork hurriedly, not caring about getting it in order. That was most definitely flirting.

On Saturday, he progressed to verbal flirting. Not much, he didn't want to completely humiliate himself. But then again, he was wearing a hooker skirt and women's knickers, so he really couldn't sink much lower.

"I hope you had a good night, Boss," Harry said as he stocked the new alcohol into the cabinet.

"It could have been a lot better, trash," Boss drawked. The way his eyes lingered on Harry's skirt left very little doubt about what he meant.

"Is the anything else I can do for you, Boss? I'm at your complete disposal," was a step too far. They were fine until their eyes met, and then they were both laughing. Well, Harry was. Boss didn't allow himself more than a quick snort before he threw his glass at Harry.

"Get out, trash," he huffed. Harry left, still giggling.

Lussuria intercepted him on his way to the Infirmary.

"Come and work with me, Rio-chan!"

So Harry followed his Officer through the corridors to the fashion room. Harry knew that he was probably the person who spent the most time in here aside for Lussuria himself. According to the Sun Officer, none of the other Varia members had the slightest appreciation for fashion. Harry had spent a lot of his childhood with a needle and thread, trying to turn Dudley's hand-me-downs into something presentable, so he was able to help Lussuria with the basic sewing, and some of the simpler designs. They both found it a calming way to unwind.

"So, how is Xan-chan?" he asked.

Harry choked on his own spit. "Xan-chan?" he gasped, once he had enough breath to speak.

"You know, Boss! How are you finding it?"

"It's fine. He's been very pleasant." How was he supposed to answer that question?

"Does he like the skirt?" Lussuria asked, in a suggestive voice. Harry blushed.

"He hasn't commented," he decided on after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"But he's noticed, hasn't he?" Lussuria raised his eyebrows.

Harry gaped at him. "Was that your plan all along? Wanting a uniform for the female members, my ass."

"Don't be silly, Rio-chan," Lussuria said primly. "Everyone knows that the Varia doesn't have any female members."

It was on the last day of Harry's first week on Xanxus Duty, and the last day when he would be forced to wear the skirt, when Boss actually started a conversation during their meal together.

"Why are you in the Varia, trash?"

Harry chewed the mouthful he was eating slowly, to give himself time to think. When Boss started to look impatient, he swallowed and said, "I transferred here from the Vongola, actually. I was just a standard medic for the Vongola children and orphans, until the yearly Ring Tests. My Sun Flame was ranked as just below Irie Shouichi, making me the second strongest medic the Vongola had, after the Sun Guardian, and the strongest full-time. So they moved from the children to the main infirmary and matched me up with a Box Weapon."

Boss actually looked interested in the story, so Harry continued. Even now, two years later, the memories were still somewhat painful.

"I was so pleased. My Box Weapon was Sun Canaries. They spread healing Sun Flames through song. Useless for stealth, but great for area healing. Lussuria himself came over to teach me, since his Pea-chan is the most similar in the Vongola. I had one singing in the infirmary at all times. Fatalities went down by twenty percent by the end of the first week. I was rushed off my feet, and exhausted at the end of the day, but it was the most fulfilling job I'd ever had. Until Hibari Kyoya came back from Japan."

"What does the Cloud trash have to do with this?" Boss sounded drawn into the story.

"He has that canary of his, Hibird. It liked me, a lot. It spent more time hanging out with my Box Canaries than it did with Hibari. He got jealous, and I was just a medic. He decided that a Box Weapon meant that I was fair game, and 'bit me to death'. Every day. I was spending more time as a patient than as a medic. I complained to Decimo, who promised to speak to Hibari about it. He was worse than ever after that, because 'only weak herbivores bleat to the herd leader about a carnivore'. So I showed him what else my Box Canaries could do, and Decimo asked me to leave Vongola for attacking one of his Guardians. Apparently, Hibari had been down for a vital mission that he was unable to attend because of me. It almost cost the Vongola the Pesca alliance. So I transferred to the Varia."

"You took down Hibari?" Boss sounded impressed.

"It wasn't something I should have done to an ally. But Hibari should know what happens when you back an animal into a corner. When you remove flight, fight is the only option."

"Not bad, trash."

With that said, Boss seemed satisfied, and they spent the rest of the meal in strangely companionable silence.

The next day, it felt strange to get dressed in a standard uniform. He felt a lot more himself wearing actual male underwear and trousers. He knew that he had been lucky not to have endured more than whistles during his week in a skirt – something that he was fairly sure had more to do with people not wanted to risk Lussuria's wrath than any respect for him – but he felt a lot safer now that his legs were covered.

He was on his way to Captain Squalo's office when Officer Levi cornered him. He had seen the Lightning Officer glaring at him last week, but he had assumed that it was because of his inappropriate dress. Why was he angry now that he was dressed properly?

"Come with me," the Officer snapped.

Harry followed meekly into his office, just a few doors away from Captain Squalo's. Inside, three Lightning Division members were already waiting.

"This team is going to infiltrate this house," he spread blueprints out on the table, "And take out this man," a photo was tossed on top of the blueprints, "the youngest son of Christian Velone."

Harry recognised the name. Velone was a thorn in the Vongola's side. He had heard that the Vongola Mist had made it his personal mission to make their lives miserable, because they specialised in drugs and poisons and had dealt with quite a few disreputable Families, including the Estraneo. Anyone involved in the Velone Family was sure to be well-guarded.

"Sir," he said, "I'm only qualified as support for Copper- and Bronze-ranked missions. Anything involving stealth and infiltration, or assassination, is well out of my limits. I'm a general, wide-affect medic."

Officer Levi got right up in his face. Harry could count the hairs in the man's moustache as his breath washed over Harry's skin. "You think just because Boss shows an interest you can be insubordinate? This mission has permission to take a medic. I select you as the medic. Do as you're told, or I'll kill you here and now. We're the Varia, we don't babysit weaklings."

So that was what this was about. Levi was jealous. And he was right. This was the Varia, and if he killed harry here, no one would be able to do anything. Lussuria would bitch for a while, and Squalo would be annoyed that Boss's paperwork wouldn't be done so promptly. And Boss himself. Would Boss miss him? Probably not. Boss was Varia to his bones, he had no time for the weak.

"Yes, sir," he ground out between clenched teeth. This mission was going to suck. He just hoped that he would be able to come back alive.

Harry didn't often regret having his wand snapped any more. He had loved Hogwarts for the family it had given him, and the Varia gave him all that and more. He didn't think there was another place in the world that would offer him such unconditional acceptance. But at times like this, trapped in a corner with guns firing, enemies coming closer and only his Canaries and a Lightning Box he could barely open to protect himself, he felt that he would happily kill for the versatility of Magic.

One of the Lightning Squad had triggered the alarm as they entered the house. Immediately, the guards were on high alert. The idiot who had tripped the alarm had been shot in the chest before they even reached the front door, and Harry hadn't dared to use his Box to heal him. The Canaries were noisy and noticeable. They would announce to everyone that it was more than a run-of-the-mall intruder on the grounds.

They had dashed through the house, taking out enemies as they ran. Harry was stuck using a gun, and although he hit most of the people he aimed at, he knew that hardly any of them were kill shots. By the time they had found and executed the target, the house was swarming. The guards were wearing gas masks now, and a white vapour was filtering through the air vents. Harry coughed and choked as it filled his lungs. Lightning Squad Member Number Two had fallen then, and Number Three had taken a bullet in the leg. Desperate, Harry had dragged him into a sheltered alcove, and pulled the Lightning Ring from his finger.

Lightning wasn't his element. It wasn't even his second or third; that was Storm and Rain, respectively. But he had just enough to light the Ring with a pathetic, wavering spark. The Box Weapon on Three's belt contained a shield, which Harry thanked every God he had ever heard of for. He knew it wouldn't last long, and if they had any Flame users they were screwed, but it bought them time. The vapour couldn't penetrate the shield, and he enjoyed every gasp of clean air. His head was still ringing and foggy, but he didn't feel like he was on the verge of collapse. He had bought himself a few minutes.

Harry opened his own Box. He set a Canary to healing Three, and tried to come up with a plan. After he had incapacitated Hibari, he had promised himself that he would never use the secondary ability of his Canaries ever again. After all, it was using the Cruciatus Curse that had seen him banished from the Wizarding world. But he had no choice. The gunfire was closing in, and there was no backup coming. That was the way of the Varia. If you couldn't complete the mission on your own, you deserved to die there. So he whispered his attack, feeling sick to his stomach.

The Canaries sang, and his enemies screamed. It was an awful, piteous sound. After the war, he hadn't wanted to hear anyone scream like that again. To be the cause of it again was disgusting. But he had no choice. He sat huddled in his alcove, and listened as his Canaries Activated every nerve in his enemies' bodies. It made even the slightest brush of clothes, the breath of wind, into total agony. He only had three Canaries, though, and they could only go so far. He could hear new people arriving even as the old ones screamed. Eventually, he would run out of Flames, and Canaries would vanish. The guards weren't unconscious, there was always the chance that one could attack through the pain, and one was all that needed to. He didn't dare to make a run for it; with Three weighing him down he wouldn't get far.

The screaming quieted as the singing grew fainter. Box Weapons depended on your resolve, and Harry didn't have enough resolve for this. Soon they would be helpless again. The time he had bought himself was meaningless. The gunfire started up again, and the shouting of battle rather than agony.

Battle? There shouldn't be any fighting. There was no one for them to fight except him. His breath caught in his throat as he recognised the press of Flames bearing down on him. Boss was here. What was Boss doing here? As the gunfire came closer, he heard Boss shouting.

"Trash! Get the fuck out of my way!"

Boss's scowling face was the last thing he saw before falling unconscious.

He woke up on the sofa. He was stripped down to his underwear and covered with a soft woollen blanket. For half an hour he just lay there, enjoying the quiet and warmth. He could hear the scratch of Boss's pen as he completed paperwork. The knowledge that his Boss was there, that he was safe and protected, made him feel absolutely secure. Eventually the scratching stopped.

Harry opened his eyes when he felt a hand in his hair. Squinting up at Boss, he closed his eyes again at the scowl on his face.

"The chemical was designed to incapacitate, not do permanent harm, trash. You'll be fine." Boss's voice was thrumming with barely supressed fury.

"I'm sorry, Boss," Harry whispered. The hand in his hair tightened, and Harry bit off a yelp of surprise. To his shock, the hand relaxed, and Boss started petting his hair.

"Not your fault, trash. The fucking incompetent Lightning Officer sent you on a mission two ranks higher than you were qualified for, and you completed the objective. You were the last man standing on your whole damn squad. I'm turning the whole Lightning Division over the Prince and the Shark. By the end of the month, they'll be competent or dead. Either way, there'll be less trash here."

They sat in companionable silence, Harry all but melting into the strong hand that had moved down to caress his neck.

"You don't take orders from him, trash," Boss said suddenly.

"I'm sorry?" It took a moment for Harry's brain to switch gears.

"I told you, you're my bitch, trash. You don't take orders from anyone else."

"Right, Boss. Sorry."

The hand left his neck, and Harry felt absurdly bereft. All of a sudden, he felt incredibly vulnerable lying down on the sofa, so he pushed himself into a sitting position, pulling the blanket around him. To his surprise, Boss sank down onto the sofa next to him.

"I'm not a fucking White Knight, trash," Boss snarled. "If you'd stayed here, I wouldn't have had to wade through the trash to rescue you. Don't do it again."

"Sorry Boss." Harry was starting to feel like a broken record. He was incredibly aware of Boss sat next to him, radiating heat. Harry wanted nothing more than to lean into that heat, let it wrap itself around him and protect him.

"Stop apologising. And don't call me Boss. My name's Xanxus. Harry."

Harry turned in shock. Then Xanxus' lips were on his, their arms were wrapped around each other, and names were just another irrelevant detail.

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on the next chapter of 'The Varia's Hairdresser'. Then I found a list of story prompts on Tumblr. And somehow this happened. I don't even know.
> 
> It's my first time writing any kind of romance or pairing. Does it work?


End file.
